I hadn't been kidding when I'd told Sloane I had no idea how to date with Bowen in my life, because yes, while I knew my parents were happy to take care of him some nights, it didn't feel right sending him to his grandparents just because I wanted to have her over. Or take her out. Or spend hours with her in my arms, our lips and hands exploring one another. He was my responsibility, and I wasn't going to shirk that just because I happened to be dating someone.

Which meant grabbing drinks at a bar or dinner at an upscale place—the typical kind of dates I'd take women on—weren't possible, and I had to come up with alternatives.

Like having her join Bowen and I for dinner at the house a few nights a week. Though since I hadn't explicitly told Bowen we were dating—I'm sure he assumed something was up, considering Sloane came around much more frequently—it wasn't a whole lot different than when she'd come over before. She'd drop by after work and talk to Bowen as I finished cooking—which could be as simple as macaroni and cheese or veer toward the top of my skill set with steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Then the three of us would eat together, and without fail, Bowen would convince us to play a game or watch something with him once our plates were clear.

And yes, there were some heated looks exchanged and subtle hand grazes when Bowen's attention appeared elsewhere, but overall Sloane and I kept things fairly PG with him around.

Once his bedtime passed, however, that was a different story.

Sloane would hang around for an hour or two as we talked over a glass of wine, or dug into a dessert she'd brought over. Inevitably, within minutes, I would find a way to touch her—whether it was my hand on her lower back, my arm around her shoulders, or our sides brushing against one another—and unlike the first time, when I made moves to kiss her, there were no interruptions.

To others, dates like these might not have seemed like anything special, but they were comfortable and what worked for us. We were spending time together, and that's what mattered.

Though that didn't mean I wasn't trying to think of other, more fun, ways for us to enjoy one another's company.

Rolling over in bed, I reached for my phone on my nightstand as the alarm went off. It was six in the morning on a Saturday—just over a week since Sloane and I had gotten together—and last night, as she'd gotten ready to leave, I'd nonchalantly asked if she wanted to come fishing this morning with Bowen and I.

She'd been a bit hesitant at first, not because she didn't want to, but because she still had to work despite it being a weekend. Though after reassuring her we'd hit the water early and be back to shore with plenty of time for her to be at Wilma's by ten, her lips had curved upward, and she'd agreed to come along.

After silencing my alarm, I pulled up our last text conversation and shot her a message.

🐟

Her response came through within seconds.

Morning, and I sure am. Though I haven't been fishing for at least a few years, so we'll see how things go.

Then hopefully I get lucky 😉 You still picking me up around 6:30?

Kk. See you soon.

While getting ready to go fishing didn't require all that much preparation, I'd learned over the past couple of weeks that Bowen was both unpredictable and overexcited in the mornings. Sliding out from underneath the covers, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants over my boxers and headed to his room, hopeful he'd cooperate and wouldn't put us behind schedule.

"Knock, knock," I said in a soft voice as I rapped my knuckles against his door. It was cracked open, so the movement caused the door to swing slightly, letting me peek into his room. "Are you ready for—"

My question got stuck in the back of my throat the moment I noticed his bed was empty.

"Bowen?" I asked, casting my gaze around his room to make sure I wasn't missing something. Like he had decided to curl up with Scout on the floor. But no, while my dog was asleep in his bed, the blankets on Bowen's bed were tossed to the side and he was nowhere to be found.

Not wanting to veer straight into a full-blown panic just yet, I considered that maybe he'd simply woken up early, and pushed open the door to the bathroom across the hall.

Nothing.

Heading downstairs, I checked the living room first, thinking he might've wanted to watch cartoons. Then I moved onto the kitchen—maybe he'd woken up hungry—before checking the backyard. All while calling Bowen's name repeatedly, with increasing worry, in hopes that he'd respond.

He didn't.

My stomach was in knots as I made my way back to the stairs, taking them two at a time. What the fuck had happened? Where was he? How had I lost a six-year-old in the middle of the night?

Mind racing, I ran a jerky hand through my hair as worst-case scenarios began to take root.

What if he'd started to sleepwalk? What if he was injured?

What if... what if he'd run away? What if I wasn't enough for him?

Shit.

My haphazard steps guided me back towards my room, knowing I had to call my folks and tell them what had happened. But as I did so, I saw that the door that had been closed tight since I'd arrived—Liam and Thea's bedroom—was ajar. A small amount of relief sprouted and when I pushed it open, the frazzled knot of worry in my chest began to slowly dissipate.

Bowen was curled into a ball in the middle of his parent's bed, his back to me, but I could see the bottom half of his stuffed penguin tucked tightly under his arm.

He was okay—physically, at least—and that's what mattered.

When I sank down on the bed beside him, however, it was clear he wasn't okay emotionally. Lines of tears, now dry, stained his cheeks, and his hands clutched at the sheets as though he was trying to grab for his parents. Wishing for them to come back. To be here.

"Bowen," I said softly, resting my hand on his arm. The contact was enough to rouse him from what was presumably a not-so-great sleep, and his eyes blinked open, confused and tired as he turned his head to look at me. I offered him what I hoped was a smile void of the concern coursing through me, and gently said, "Hey, Bowen. What are you doing in here?"

The question was not at all accusatory but whispered with a hint of curiosity. Because I needed to know why he'd ended up here in the first place.

I caught the sight of his bottom lip quivering before he turned his back to me. "I miss my mom and dad." His words broken up by a hiccup and a few sniffles, but I got the gist of it and an ache bubbled in my throat. "They left me all alone."

Oof. Talk about words that cut deep.

I fumbled with what to say and a few moments later, choked out, "It's okay to miss them, kid. They loved you and you were the most important thing in the world to them." That much was clear from a quick glance around the room. There were a few picture frames—on the bedside table and on the dresser—all sporting family photos of the three of them. From last Christmas and Bowen's kindergarten graduation. From a birthday and a day at the beach. "But you aren't alone." I stroked his hair softly. "You have me and grandpa and grandma."

He rolled over, looking up at me with tears brimming in his eyes as he hugged his penguin tightly. "But I want them."

Laying down, I stretched out on the bed and pulled him into my chest, offering some semblance of comfort. The truth was I had no idea how to deal with this situation, because no matter what I said or did to try and cheer him up, there was no bringing his parents back.

"I wish they were still here too," I admitted quietly, pressing my lips to the top of his head.

I felt like a fish out of water, hopelessly flopping on land with no sense of where to go from here. One thing was for sure, though. Fishing was definitely off the table.

***

When Bowen's breathing evened out, maybe thirty minutes later, I moved slowly, carrying him back to his own bed to rest for a while longer. It was only then that I was able to grab my phone and call Sloane, explaining the situation to her.

Of course, she was completely understanding and even offered to bike over to help out, but to that I declined. I felt bad enough that our plans had been ruined, on top of the fact that I was cancelling after I was supposed to have already picked her up. She didn't need to spend her, now free, morning over here trying to help me work through what to do next.

Bowen was my responsibility, and I didn't want to burden her with that.

So, for the next two hours, I found myself wandering around the house, feeling restless as I tried to sort through the thoughts in my head. I had no idea what exactly had brought on Bowen's grief this morning, and this wasn't a situation where I could snap my fingers and figure it out. The road to dealing with his parents' death wouldn't be easy; it would be messy and confusing.

And considering I was still processing Liam and Thea's passing myself, I didn't necessarily think I was the right person to guide him down that road. At least not alone.

I needed reinforcements. So, once it was a more suitable hour—around nine, after Bowen came downstairs with a smile on his face, not mentioning this morning's events, and demanded a bowel of Froot Loops—I called my parents and asked if it was okay for us to drop by.

Which is why half an hour later, instead of being out on the water, I was pulling into their driveway and watching Bowen excitedly race Scout to the front door.

"Grandma!" he exclaimed when she opened the door.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she cooed as his arms went around her waist and she returned his hug. Her gaze met mine over his head and I. saw the thinly veiled curiosity in her eyes before she turned her attention back to her grandson. "Grandpa is out back working in the garden, picking some fruit for lunch and watering the plants." She lifted a brow. "Know anyone who can help him out?"

"I can help," Bowen said proudly, skirting around her while making sure his canine shadow was following him. "Come on, Scout. Let's go."

Watching the two of them scamper off, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. "Thanks for letting us come over on such short notice. Hopefully we didn't ruin any plans."

She waved me off. "You're welcome over whenever you want, though speaking of plans, weren't the two of you meant to be fishing this morning? With Sloane?"

"I'm not even going to ask how you knew that—"

"Oh, son, I have ears everywhere in this town."

Of course she did. "Good to know," I drawled before feeling my shoulders tense up at the thought of this morning. "But, uh, I had to cancel this morning."

"Why? Did something happen?" Worry seeped into her expression as her hand reached out to grab my wrist, pulling me gently toward the kitchen. "I'll admit you sounded a bit off on the phone."

I raked a hand through my hair as I leaned back against the counter and went on to explain what'd happened this morning. From thinking Bowen had gone missing to finding him curled up in his parents' bed. From the heartbreaking words he'd spoked to feeling like a failure in the hours after he'd fallen back asleep. "It was a lot," I admitted, letting out a long breath. "And even though she offered to come over to help, I didn't want Sloane to see how much it fucked me up. That it made me realize just how little grieving I'd actually done on my own, that I couldn't deal with Bowen's."

"Ryan," my mom said tenderly, "I didn't know you were feeling that way. I knew that taking on responsibility of Bowen was tough for you, but I'm sorry that you felt you needed to push down your own pain to do that. You can be sad and grieve—Lord knows I have, and still am. But know that if there's anything you need from your dad or I while you're in town, you can just let us know."

The thing was, I hadn't actually come over for support. Not entirely. I was more here for a second opinion on a plan that'd come to me a few hours ago, because while my parents were doing so much for Bowen and me, I figured it was time for someone else to help. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't completely off kilter.

And I hoped it wasn't, because looking out the window to see Bowen playing my dad's duteous strawberry picking assistant—his smile wide, as though nothing had happened this morning—concerned me.

"Actually, I was wondering... what do you think about therapy?" I asked, not turning towards her, but keeping my gaze on Bowen and my dad. "For Bowen, and for me."

Her response wasn't immediate, and when I finally looked her way, she looked both proud and shocked. "I think it's a great idea," she finally said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "I think it'd be good for the both of you to talk to someone. About the loss you've both faced, how it's affected you, and how to build your relationship together moving forward. Those conversations are hard to have, and a therapist might have the right tools to maneuver you both to a better place."

Her words immediately lifted a weight off my shoulders, and I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me, boy," she said, smiling as she pulled back. "You have great instincts, so if this is what you think is the right thing, I'll back you up one hundred percent." She patted my cheek twice. "Though if you don't mind me saying one more thing..."

"Go ahead."

"Find a way to make up for canceling your date with Sloane. She may have understood the situation, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't meet her halfway."

I chuckled, amused by how quickly she veered the conversation back to my love life. "I don't remember asking for relationship advice."

"Well, it looks like you could use it," she replied smugly. "After all, I've been married for thirty-five years. When's the last time you've dated someone seriously?"

"Point taken."

"All I'm saying," she mused, "is that girl's been through the ringer this last year, and if it were me, I would definitely appreciate some kind of thoughtful gesture. Something to show her she's important to you. That you care."

Her advice struck a chord, especially because Sloane and I had promised each other we'd help one another walk this new dating landscape together. But what had I done? Pushed her away at the first sign of trouble. I owed her an apology. A do-over. And as the beginnings of a plan started to take shape in my head, I couldn't wait to put it into action.